Schmaltz
by The Curious Sofa
Summary: Jasper Hale, an indifferent man, draws in his free time, which is when his mother isn't breathing down his neck to be a better son. He's also twelve years younger than his divorced and alcoholic neighbor Alice, whom is the sole object of his affection.


Disclaimer: I don't claim to own any portion of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight saga. There, I have disclaimed.

Chapter One

a work by

The Curious Sofa

It was the first day of spring when Jasper Hale and his mother fought for the first time after Mr. Hale's divorce. Maxine thought that Jasper worked too much and on the most fruitless of prospects. He told her that he disagreed. Replying, she countered that he could do so much better - just like his father. Jasper could be just like the man his mother married twenty-four years ago if only he tried.

The ex-Hale household, as much as a household it could be with two members, felt utterly disconnected and nearly comedic to the outsider, which in those days (of arguing) included their neighbors, Jessica and Michael Newton. Nevermind how distressing if felt to live in such conditions with your only family, the Newton's took full advantage. They weren't ones to waste anything.

On the twenty-fifth of March, with sticks of charcoal lodged between his cramping fingers, Jasper stepped back to oversee his work and unsatisfied began adding finishing touches. Some few long, laborious hours later, he smoothed the gentle planes of the woman's back and sighed. He'd strained enough today. Three days passed since he and his mother had first fought and everyday since then was a continued bicker. Today, for example, Maxine nearly stole Jasper's drawings to fuel the fireplace. All she wanted to do was nap by the warmth of a fire at her feet, she convinced herself.

Sleep, he remembered from the last time he experienced it, felt good.

In the small hours of morning, he heard his mother lollop up the staircase to his bedroom and push open his door. At first she sat, cradling her throbbing head in her hands, at his desk, telling him that she loved him still and that she wished the best for him, and that if he would only try to do better would she feel satisfied with herself - as a mother, she added. When he didn't answer Maxine felt all the agonies in the world build inside her and swell and she began to moan and yell at the top of her lungs, so very, very frustrated.

Jasper felt his body freeze as he closed his eyes. He began to breathe deeply as if to tend to his climbing annoyance. Jasper only wished for sleep!

_Dear, God_ - when would she leave and why was she so dramatic?

Of course with Maxine, as always, ignorance was key to their healthy mother-son relationship.

Remembering last night - his latest piece, he turned and spotted the easel. Although the Strathmore was shut, he could recall every detail of the woman's body. Yes, she was turned slightly and the moon's light directly hit her chest. Those curves, that shadow cast by her bosom, and that wide pathway of dark curls leading to her sex. He sighed longingly_. If only she was_ _real. _Suddenly _her _thoughts were replaced with his mother's. Surely she wouldn't appreciate his work.

Deathly hoping Maxine wouldn't follow his stare to her immediate right, he tuned into her. Upon hearing "irresponsible" and "savings" several times, his attention was payed. The topic at discussion was clearly him; but, what about him? What _was_ she blathering on about?

_Oh, that. _

She spoke of his recent purchases at the art store. Perhaps purchasing all those colourless blenders wasn't so wise.

"First, it was your time you wasted, then it was your relationship with your father you ruined, and now, worst of all, you're throwing away your money! - and on this bullshit, too!"

He remained at ease and completely hushed, lying on his stomach now, facing the fresh winds rushing through his small bedroom windows. The problem at hand was his money? He doubted it.

"How is it that you hate your father so much, Jasper?" she cried.

Ah, so this didn't concern him after all.

"Stop putting words in my mouth, mom," he deflected, tired, sitting up on the mattress' edge, "Besides, you're acting as if he's dead. He isn't dead. Probably the opposite, I figure."

Then, rising, he walked across the bedroom, passing by the easel and Maxine. Jasper almost didn't care to remove the sketchbook from the easel. He even considered showing it to Maxine later on, over privacy. She might as well have a look into what he did all day.

Charging down the stairs, he added, "He's just happier with someone who isn't you or me." Grabbing an apple, he left for the day, abandoning his mother with his echoing words.

_He's just happier with some who isn't you or me. _What heartless words had he uttered so easily! Everyone had told her that she needed to address the facts eventually, but she never expected to hear them from her own son.

After she was sure that he'd left, Jasper's mother rearranged the fruit into a large, ornate bowl, did his bed, dusted, vacuumed, and enjoyed a nap without ever being curious about what lay on his easel. Not even for an instant. Not even when _she _seemed to have leapt out of his pages and become subjected to the town's gossip. After all, drinking before the night of your move isn't the wisest choice, especially when the Newton's were your neighbors.


End file.
